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<title>Is This Morally Grey or Am I Just Colour Blind? by asinglesheepisashoop (booli)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685097">Is This Morally Grey or Am I Just Colour Blind?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/booli/pseuds/asinglesheepisashoop'>asinglesheepisashoop (booli)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little purple prose-y, Blood and Torture, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, It clearly doesn't end well, Tyelpe's last day in prison, its pretty angsty, pun absolutely intended, trigger warning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:40:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/booli/pseuds/asinglesheepisashoop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Telperinquar's life in Sauron's dungeons is bleak and grey, a far cry from the once glorious and vibrant life he'd lived in Eregion. Everything had changed when he'd allowed copper hair, a silver tongue and (unbeknownst to him) a gold ring into his life.</p><p>He tries to find the colour in it anyhow.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Celebrimbor | Telperinquar &amp; Sauron | Mairon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Is This Morally Grey or Am I Just Colour Blind?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello lovely people! I was working on a wip that was going absolutely nowhere and it frustrated me to no end. Then a couple of days ago, I woke up at like 2 a.m. to write a rough draft of this fic on my phone. (I listened to Technicolour Beat by Oh Wonder while writing, hence all the colour refs)</p><p>This is my tiny unplanned lil baby and I didn't edit it as much, so if it seems a bit all over the place then that's why. I really wanted to just write Tyelpe's POV in his last day in prison and I made myself sad writing this. I also didn't know which tag to use (between M and E), so I went with M?? But if I'm wrong please correct me!!</p><p>Also, it's in the tags but if you haven't gone through it - TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD AND TORTURE</p><p>That being said, I hope you enjoy this!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Telperinquar opened his eyes, blinking groggily. Instantly, a white-hot flash of pain arced through his head. He tried to bring his hands up to his head, but found himself unable to move. The sounds of screaming and metal scraping against metal filtered in, making the throbbing in his head rise to an incessant pounding he couldn’t get away from. His mouth felt dry, his lips cracked and crusted over with old blood. Everything hurt.</p><p>He rolled to his side. With the feeling slowly returning to his body, he noted the tough rope cutting into his arms and legs. Coldness seeped into his every pore from the stone floor beneath him. He didn’t have to look to know he was stripped naked, no shred of bodily dignity left. An icy draft passed through the room he was in, dotting his entire body with goosebumps. He remembered. He wished he didn’t.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Telperinquar wondered if he’d ever see the fires burning in his forge again. Looking down on the host of orcs gathered by the bottom of the steps where he stood, fear clamped down on his heart like an iron band with a vice grip. He smiled inwardly at the analogy in his head. Even in the face of death, thoughts of the smithy wouldn’t leave. He was a Noldorin blacksmith first, warrior second.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But everything was gone, had been destroyed. The army of the Enemy was at his feet, but why did it feel like he’d be the one soon being trampled into the dust? He locked eyes with the captain, eyes a shade of amber he knew all too well. In the light of day, Annatar’s -no, Sauron’s- gaze was calculated and cruel; something the fires of the forge had somehow masked. Or was it Telperinquar’s own naïveté that had been unable to acknowledge the hatred simmering right under the surface? </em>
</p><p><em>He felt violated; he’d allowed Sauron into his forge, a place so intimate and much dearer to his heart than his own private chambers. He may as well have invited him into his bed. And now it was all gone. Anger was starting to replace the fear in his heart, and rightfully so. ‘Emissary of the Valar’ – Telperinquar could have laughed, he should have clarified exactly </em>which <em>Vala Sauron meant.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Come and face your end, or will the Lord of Eregion let the last of his people die for him?” came the soft, vile taunts from Sauron’s mouth.</em>
</p><p><em>The words rang untrue, but it hurt so much that the pain felt almost physical. The jeers arising from the black sea of orcs before him were deafening, but beyond that was a cursed silence. Sauron hadn’t held anything back. He had all but razed Eregion to the ground. Telperinquar didn’t have to look too far out to see the smoke curling upwards in morbid patterns, joining the dark clouds in the overcast sky. He’d fought with every drop of energy he had, but the screams of </em>néri<em>, </em>níssi <em>and </em>sén <em>burning in their homes and on the battlefield had come together in a heart-wrenching symphony of death that still haunted him.</em></p><p>
  <em>This was a losing battle and Telperinquar might be a blacksmith first, but he was born with the light of the trees in his heart and his eyes. He was no shrinking violet, and he was going to give the Enemy hell. The Eldar beside him were few, but their wills were as strong as the blades they wrought in the forges. He let out a cry, and together with his kinsmen, he charged forward into the sea of orcs, blade shining as it cut through the air into flesh and bone, blood splattering on his armour.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tears streamed down his face, pooling in the hollow of his neck before disappearing into his undershirt, to form another inconspicuous wet spot that didn’t matter, joining the dozens of others from the tears he’d cried before, from the sweat after days of battles fought. They were tears of sorrow, of anger, of pain, and of the lingering fear of facing an enemy far greater than he could have imagined. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A tear made its way sideways across his face before falling to the ground. Everything that had passed after that fateful last stand had been something straight out of his Morgoth-fuelled nightmares. He looked at his skin, littered with purple bruises and barely-healed lacerations from days of torture, stark against the grey walls of the cell he was locked in. It was all he saw these days.</p><p>He remembered when his life was filled with a myriad of colours. The blazing blue skies and the warmth of the sun browning his skin as he hewed away at stone to make the West-gate, laughing at whatever wisecrack Narvi had made for the day. He recalled the tranquil greenery surrounding the white, pristine towers of Gondolin, coming alive with pink and yellow flowers studding the countryside like little jewels in the spring.</p><p>He thought of the shades of orange in the depths of the fires he used to fan in the forge. Orange was his favourite colour. It was close enough to the bright red standards his father – and in his turn, his father’s father – bore when they landed on the shores of Middle-Earth, a constant reminder of his familial ties; yet, different enough to remind Telperinquar that he was his own person, free of the bloodshed that seemed to follow his family wherever they went. At least, he used to <em>think</em> he was free of it.</p><p>Although that hadn't seemed to be the case at the time, that freedom had long since been exchanged for silken copper hair, a silver tongue and (unbeknownst to him) a gold ring.</p><p>He thought of the first time Sauron had slipped the Ring on his finger, many miles away by the chasm of Orodruin. He didn’t think he would ever forget the endless dread that had engulfed him so wholly then, the hair on his arms standing up straight; muscles tensed painfully in a desperate attempt to run away. Where to, he didn’t know.</p><p>While the Ring being wielded in Mordor far away over the mountains and the Great River had chills running down his back, seeing it in person for the first time had sent Telperinquar reeling. Glinting between the fingers of its master like the morning star, much like the elven rings did, the Ring had been the most dazzling yet hateful thing he’d ever seen. He supposed it wasn’t much too different from its master.</p><p>He wanted to think that the Ring of Power had no power over <em>him</em>, but waking up gasping for air every night when the shadows in his dreams threatened to choke him told him otherwise. He didn’t remember the last time he’d slept in peace.</p><p>The shouting outside his cell persisted and his head still ached with a splitting pain. He shifted onto his back uncomfortably, the rope digging deeper into his wrists. It was going to leave marks – the orcs certainly hadn’t held anything back – but it didn’t matter anymore. He’d been through worse.</p><p>He’d been flogged, skin tearing like flimsy parchment under the barbed whips of the orc captains. He’d been kicked till his ribs had caved in and breathing felt like shards of glass had been impaled within his chest.</p><p>It had gone on and on and the mere thought of it made him wince; he didn’t know how he was still alive. He was sure they’d have gone a step further, but Sauron had seemed intent on keeping him in one piece till he gave up the locations of Nenya, Narya and Vilya. What Sauron hadn’t known was that Telperinquar’s heart had already shattered into a thousand pieces the moment he’d been betrayed.</p><p>He wasn’t proud that he’d divulged the whereabouts of the lesser rings, but he would rather <em>die</em> than give up the three elven rings, the works of his own hands.</p><p>As if on cue, the door to his cell was slammed open. They were back again, to try and beat him black and blue into submission. He screwed his eyes shut, so hard that he saw streaks of light chasing each other behind his eyelids, waiting for the sting of the first cut from the whip to make itself known. It never came.</p><p>Instead, a voice as clear as wind chimes, spoke into the gloom, “Will you not look upon your old friend, Telperinquar?”</p><p>Telperinquar exhaled sharply at the sound of his own name. He knew that voice all too well. But he was not going to give Sauron the time of day. He’d already regretfully wasted years doing exactly that. He kept his eyes closed, but in the domain of the Enemy, disobedience would always be rewarded with agony. His neck snapped to the side as he received an excruciating kick to his face.</p><p>His eyes flew open of their own accord and he was starting to taste the metallic twang of blood in his mouth that was had become more and more familiar as the days passed. He wanted to scream out loud, but he wasn’t going to give the Enemy the pleasure of hearing his pleas. <em>So the orc captain had come too</em>, he thought, staring down the grotesque face of his tormentor snarling unintelligibly over him. And with him had come those wretched muddy iron-capped boots.</p><p>The orc grabbed his face roughly with no regard for his wounds, chipped fingernails digging into his cheeks, and hissed in his ear, “Do as the master says, or there’s more where that came from.” Telperinquar seethed as the orc jerked his head to face the person who had once been his most trusted confidant.</p><p>Sauron’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “I see you’ve been causing a bit of trouble down here, refusing to comply with what has been asked of you.” He sounded amused. “You’re still the same stubborn elf I knew. So I thought I’d pay you a visit, for old times’ sake.”</p><p>He commanded the orc captain in that hellish speech that sounded like a knife against glass to Telperinquar’s ears. The orc nodded and jogged out of the cell, returning only moments later with a bow and a quiver full of crude arrows.</p><p>Telperinquar felt his heart jump to his throat. That didn’t bode well for him, and he steeled himself for whatever kind of hell Sauron deemed fit to unleash on him as he knelt down beside him.</p><p>“Tell me where the elven rings are, Telperinquar.” Sauron said, voice calm and unwavering. Telperinquar graced his demand by turning and spitting – which was more blood than saliva by that point – at his feet.</p><p>Immediately, Telperinquar knew he’d all but doomed himself, but he couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride and adrenaline at what he’d just done. Sauron, evidently displeased, gestured to the orc behind him, who fitted an arrow to his bow and aimed it at Telperinquar.</p><p>Before he could even fathom what was going on, pain shot up Telperinquar’s thigh and he screamed till his voice gave out. He looked down at the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his leg. While he stared dazedly at what was once the white fletching of the arrow now covered in greenish-brown gunk, as everything in this God-forsaken place was, Sauron repeated himself.</p><p>“Tell where they are and don’t play the fool, you ungrateful bastard.”</p><p>Telperinquar was adamant. He’d kept his silence for so long, he was going to hold out for another day even if it killed him. Sauron, increasingly ticked, waved at the orc again. He nocked another arrow and took his aim.</p><p>Telperinquar’s pain had risen to a thundering crescendo, making itself known in every inch of his body, that he <em>almost</em> didn’t feel the second arrow burying itself deep into his stomach. He blinked. Spots had started appearing in his peripheral sight that refused to leave.</p><p>There were no tears left to cry, he had no voice left to scream. Like he had every day since he’d been thrown into the cell, he found himself weakly calling out to Elbereth, the beloved of his kin. The small spark of joy her name inspired in him and the horror that etched itself upon the orc’s face at her name was his only silver lining.</p><p>Between the devil before him and the doom of the deep blue sea many leagues away, he yearned once more for the shores of Valinor. The screams outside his cell, Sauron’s threats, the whizz of the third arrow through the air as it lodged itself in his shoulder were all starting to become white noise.</p><p>He was starting to feel it, his <em>fëa</em> trying to break away from the bonds of his material existence. Standing on the threshold of consciousness, he greeted Death with open arms. In his unseeing state, he failed to notice Sauron slip a blade out from under his sleeve. Not that it would have made much of a difference anyway, a numbness had slowly set into Telperinquar’s limbs and was spreading in an ever-growing chill.</p><p>At Sauron’s command, the orc captain heaved Telperinquar up to be seated against the wall. He had lost so much blood that the room had started spinning like he’d had one too many glasses of liquor and he struggled to keep his head up. Before he could slump down on himself, the sharp point of Sauron’s dagger pressed into his neck.</p><p>Sauron clicked his tongue. “Well, you’re clearly of no use.” He grinned maliciously. “I <em>will</em> find those rings, Telperinquar, and when your people slave away under the power of the rings in my hands, all you’ll be able to do is weep and watch from afar as they curse your name into the Void for having ever made them.”</p><p>The last of his instincts screamed at him to crawl away, yell for help, talk back to Sauron, do <em>something</em>, but Telperinquar was exhausted and he couldn’t feel anything anymore.</p><p>The blade, meeting no resistance, cut into the soft discoloured skin under his ear and continued along the path of his neck, tracing a half circlet. So this was how he’d die then. Alone, cold and naked in those accursed dungeons. No fanfare, no great battle between his army and Sauron’s forces, no victorious death. He distantly wondered how history would remember him: perhaps as a son who’d abandoned his father, as a dutiful leader of his people, as a smith of many talents, or just an unfortunate elf caught in the crosshairs of Sauron’s manipulation.</p><p>His breath came out in shallow gasps as the veins in his neck split.</p><p>Sauron’s cut had been deep. Warm blood poured down his neck and dripped down on the floor, filling his vision with a bright red, much too similar to the red of his family’s banners that he’d once sought to distance himself from. A family of which he was the sole survivor. Not for much longer though. The orange he’d discovered in the flames of the forge was still his favourite colour, but he found that the red of his blood and his bloodline were just as beautiful. At the very least, he was grateful for the final burst of colour before his death.</p><p>And with no last words to say, Telperinquar's world went black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mr Tyelpe? Mr Tyelpe? Oh my fucking God, he fucking dead.</p><p>(P.S. Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Have a great day and stay safe!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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